Save That Until We're Safe
by deGorgeous
Summary: Glimpses at the moments that lead up to Hatter joining Alice in her world, and their long-awaited reunion.


Her grip is still firmly on the collar off his jacket when they finally pull apart. Their foreheads pressed together, she relishes the feel of his nose brushing against her cheek, and the stiff brim of his hat poking against the small of her back where he holds it between his fingers.

He's here, in her world. If not for the pressure of Hatter's hands at her waist and the prickling of his stubble beneath her palm, Alice would not believe it to be real.

Slowly, her mother's stuttering words begin to register and after a pointed clearing of her throat, they put some distance between each other.

"I take it you've… met before?"

Hatter — or was it David? — lets out a self-conscious laugh. He has the decency to be embarrassed, whereas Alice can't stop taking in the sight of him.

"Something like that."

There's an offer to brew some coffee and set the table for their guest. Hatter requests tea instead, if it's not too much trouble, and then he and Alice are alone again.

She feels delirious, like when she first went through the Looking Glass, but infinitely more pleasant. The pounding headache and nausea are replaced with the powerful beating of her heart and butterflies in her stomach.

Of the list of questions springing forth in her mind, what she lands on is a simple, breathless: "How?"

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He watches slack-jawed as Alice is unceremoniously pushed through the Looking Glass, just a flash of light blue and flowing black and then she's gone. Just like that.

At last, she's been safely returned home. It's his only consolation as he stands there, at the center of the hall, her velvet coat in his grasp, immobile and gawking at the empty spot where she had stood. The crowd of Oysters grows as one by one they're ushered through the portal by men in shiny white gear, and it's only then that Hatter steps aside to give them space.

The first place he thinks to go is the closest thing to his own version of home. The tea shop is as wrecked as he suspected it would be when he had seen Mad March and his gang lurking outside of it. There's not a table that hasn't been overturned nor a bottle that hasn't been shattered, and he doubts his personal dwelling fared any better.

The shop looks the way Hatter feels, and he doesn't have the energy to put it to rights. Not today anyway.

He'd never been one to taste his own product, but he has the fleeting thought that if a few drops of Serenity or Bliss or even Contentment remained, he'd take them.

His bathroom, blessedly, still has running water and functioning hardware. Divesting himself of his dusted coat, and bloodied, tattered shirt and slacks, Hatter takes stock of his condition.

A scattering of cuts and bruises line his arms, chest and face. Some too tender to treat, and the rest superficial enough that a basic sterilization and bandaging would suffice.

He could really use that hug right about now.

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The emphatic hammering at his door the next morning has Hatter bolting upright from the couch cushions on the floor of his office. He's ready to have a go at hostile Resistance fighters or stubborn suits still loyal to the Queen, but there's no one at his porch when he opens the door.

His sets down his lamp-turned-mallet and picks up the cream-colored invitation that greets him instead.

It's from the newly crowned King, and scrawled in a perfect script are instructions to meet at the former Happy Hearts Casino to be honored for his "heroism in the liberation of Wonderland."

He scoffs, tossing the letter on the dried grass of his walkway. _Hatter the Hero_. He feels undeserving of the title and wants to ignore the summons altogether, but then he pictures a pair of warm blue eyes and her radiant smile; hears her resolute voice asserting complete, hard-earned trust.

He'll make a brief appearance. He wouldn't want to let her down.

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It's a more intimate gathering than Hatter expected. An exclusive meeting for Jack's would-be council members and confidantes, he assumes. Charlie is the only friendly face he recognizes, and to say the gray-haired knight is delighted to be there would be an understatement. Hatter didn't think it humanly possible to grin that widely.

They're each given a private audience with Jack. One person chats with him by the throne while the others pretend not to crane their necks to eavesdrop. When it's Hatter's turn, he makes a concerted effort to hide his distaste and keep his hands from balling up into tight fists.

If he's going to make a fresh start in Wonderland, he should start by making nice with his Majesty.

The King gives his rehearsed thanks, and Hatter gives his obligatory bow. False flattery and saccharine praise used to flow so effortlessly from him before, but now he finds himself struggling. Jack, for his part, is good at sounding sincere and disarming. A talent crafted over decades of being surrounded by royal pretense.

It isn't hard to understand how a woman as smart and guarded as Alice couldn't see through his deception. That, and his chiseled good looks.

Hatter really doesn't like Jack Heart.

"How can the kingdom repay you for your service?"

He wants to name every item in the tea shop that needs repair and replacement. Wants to demand compensation for his losses. An endless supply of chocolate and cream cake. A new office in a renovated high-rise. A mansion for him and his vast collection of hats and knick-knacks.

The stuff he used to dream of having. The stuff he thought would make him happy. The stuff he knows has no real value to him, not anymore.

Hatter looks around the carpeted room and, for the first time since Alice left, feels a surge of hope. They're a small group, but a solid one. Wonderland is in good hands. He's done what he set out to do.

"Hatter?" Jack repeats. "What is it that you want?"

He smiles, slight but genuine.

"Pizza." _And lots of other things._

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It takes a couple of days but eventually, Hatter's papers are in order and he has, according to Jack, what he needs to start a life in the Oyster's world.

A plastic card with his photograph printed on it. Faded pieces of paper with old men's portraits printed on them. Keys to Jack's old apartment, which Hatter refrains from revealing he will absolutely not be staying at.

While the two of them would never be friends, Hatter appreciates the help. He knows Jack will make a good ruler. He doesn't need to worry about the fate of Wonderland.

With Jack's instructions and the tidbits of knowledge Hatter's compiled over the years, he's ready for his journey. Or as ready as he can be.

"You might want to lose the hat," Jack suggests, in his best attempt at friendliness. "You'll blend in better without it. Be less conspicuous."

He motions to take it off, but stops. This trip isn't like some covert mission where Hatter's playing one side against another. He's not a spy tasked with retrieving intel. Not trying to sneak his way into some self-serving endgame.

Hatter wants to cultivate a real life in Alice's world, as himself.

"Thanks but, I think I'll keep it."

He's on the precipice of jumping through the Looking Glass when Jack speaks up again, needing to relay one last thing.

"Before Alice departed, she told me—" Jack pauses, nervously adjusting his cufflinks and Hatter gives him his full attention. "When I tried proposing again, she told me she wanted something else. She said she felt different; that I didn't know the person she had become. But perhaps, you do."

His intentions are noble, but Hatter doesn't need Jack's blessing. He's grateful, though, for the context behind the affectionate embrace he had witnessed between them. What a fool he had been.

All Hatter needs is to walk through a mirror and force himself to breathe.

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A lifetime of Wonderland's penchant for spiraling heights and disorientating modes of transportation have made adjusting to — whatever the hell _that_ was, pretty smooth. It's the fall against the hard concrete of the warehouse floor that leaves Hatter winded and sore.

His pain is forgotten the moment he sees Alice laying just a few feet away. He rushes to her side, carefully moving her dark hair past her shoulder. Her breathing is steady. She looks unharmed. But she's not waking up.

Why hasn't she woken up?

Hatter speeds across and down the abandoned building and flags the first stranger he sees walking past the alleyway. He urgently tells the passerby that there's an unconscious woman who needs medical attention. They pull out a device — a cellphone he thinks it's called — presses a few buttons, then repeats what Hatter has told them along with the cross-streets.

Within minutes, a white truck with spinning red lights and blaring sirens arrives, and Hatter leads the way back into the warehouse. Alice is carted off on a stretcher, and Hatter rides along with her.

He takes her hand, careful not to interfere with the paramedics. "You'll be okay, Alice. I'll make sure you're okay."

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He's starting to think Jack may've had a point about dressing a little more conservatively in this world. The silk material and paisley pattern of his shirt, the cut of his trousers, the style of his boater. Maybe it's the pale walls and fluorescent lighting, or the fact that Hatter has been sitting in the waiting room for far too long, but in comparison to everyone else's, his attire does seem a bit… bolder.

Not that anyone cares. The handful of worried friends and family with blank stares and cold cups of coffee have greater concerns than his curious fashion sense.

His own concerns are such that he wouldn't care if the entire White Knight army arose from the dead and sat across from him, and there's only so many times he can read the same articles in a pamphlet called _Us Weekly_.

The only person whose worry exceeds his own is the woman who arrives at the front desk in a rush of heeled steps and frantic questions. He perks up at the mention of an Alice Hamilton. The receptionist points to Hatter, then disappears behind the double doors that he hadn't been allowed through.

He stands when the brown-haired woman approaches him. "Are you… you're the one who found my daughter?"

Hatter nods, taking off his hat and offering his seat. She introduces herself as Carol, and he recounts the story he's been practicing in his head: that he's a construction worker — that's what they're called, right? — and forgot his phone at the work site. When he went back to go looking for it, he saw Alice run into the building. She must've hit her head or something, but he was assured she should be fine.

He tells her his name. His real name. It's one of the only true pieces of information on his identification card, aside from his gender and age. It's been a while since he's said it out loud. It'll take getting used to.

Of course, the doctors only let Carol see Alice when she's finally awake. Hatter feels a pang of disappointment, but it's overshadowed by the relief of knowing she's alright.

He spends the rest of the night looking for a place to sleep. There's a motel a few blocks away with an available room and an attendant that only requires cash. The bed and furnishings are modest, but a significant upgrade from his ransacked tea shop.

He'll check back on Alice in the morning. And after that, he'll buy some new clothes.

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Their apartment is fairly easy to locate. From what Carol has mentioned in their brief conversations — the most recent of which she had graciously invited him over for lunch — Hatter knows the warehouse is just around the corner from where they live, and the warehouse itself is a notable enough landmark that Hatter could be pointed in the right direction.

His pushes down on the buzzer; twice for good measure, and relaxes when Carol welcomes him inside. Upon walking through the threshold of her apartment, he's nearly blinded by the natural light. Their place is open and spacious and comforting. So different from the cramped metropolis of Wonderland and the dank, underground caverns of the Resistance's base.

Alice's world is truly a thing of beauty.

"Alice!" Carol announces. "Come meet David."

He squirms a little as he waits, fidgeting with the hem of his bowler. What if Alice didn't remember him? Would she be happy to see him if she did? What if he had misread all the signs…

What Hatter wouldn't give for a glass of Courage.

Then, she shouts his name and breaks into a sprint towards him. He sees that she's trusting him to catch her and he does. The impact of their collision knocks the air right out of him, but he supports her as she clings to him, her laughter echoing in his ear.

His uncertainties melt away and in that moment, it's only them. It's heaven. It's home.

"Finally."

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End file.
